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User blog:Bowdrie1999/The Rim: Part 4.
It was shipboard nighttime when the ''Dhalia ''arrived at Zirtaan's Anchor and docked on the space station's lower section. Bainbridge ordered the cargo to be loaded on repulsorlift carts and then excused non-essential crew to shore leave. Shutting down the auxillary power, he headed belowdecks to the Med bay. Dr. Gaza, ship's surgeon and chief medical officer, quietly organized various vaccines, working under the dim light of minimal power. He was one of the only crewmembers that didn't stand and adress the Captain as he slipped into the cubicle and sat down silently on the exam table, rubbing his temples. "You know I hate doing this Eli." The doctor said in a low voice as he prepped a syringe with antibacterial liquid. He was also one of the only crewmembers to adress his young Captain by his first name. "Hold out your arm." Gaza said softly as he rubbed the entry point with antiseptic, putting the syringe on the table. "How long has it been?" He sat back and removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes. The captain shook his head. "Just give me the stim Doc. I'm not here for a lecture in morals." His voice sounded strained, tired beyond his years. Gaza slipped off his gloves and crossed his arms over his chest. "This isn't a solution Eli. The war ended 3 years ago. You don't have to continue living like this." Bainbridge shook his head, his face a mixture of exasperation and emerging anger. "That's not how it works Doc and you know it." He picked up the syringe of clear fluid and stared at it with disgust. "You know they used to give us these things to keep us awake. We'd be on a 72-hour recon mission, hiding in an asteroid with an entire Federation armada close enough to spit on. You felt superhuman, your mind on a knife's edge. When you completed you mission, you'd go back to base and come down. Some of the guys.... never came out of it." The Doctor picked up the adrenal stimlulant and slid it into the vein, injecting a dose that would last a standard week, after which another dose would be needed. Eli smiled weakly. "Thanks doct-" Gaza held up his hand. "Don't." He ordered firmly. "I do this because it is my duty as ship's doctor to keep the Captain and all crew in working order. Nothing else." Bainbridge stood up from the table. "Very well, as you were." He said curtly and turned to exit the room. "What would your father have done?" Gaza asked quietly. Bainbridge stopped short of the bulkhead and clenched his fist. "You leave him out of this Gaza." His voice was low and threatening. Gaza stood up and faced the Captain, meeting his eyes. "What would he say? The son of a renowned naval officer and a dignitary, a member of a failed revolution, scratching out a living for himself in the Rim, addicted to adrenals, a broken man before the age of 30. He wanted better for you, Eli." Bainbridge took a step forward, getting dangerously close to the bearded old man. "And what difference does it make? He's dead. I don't answer to you." Gaza frowned sadly, staring at the opposite wall. When he began to speak, his eyes were afixed on the wall, as if seeing a memory play before his eyes. "Before he was... executed, he took me by the hand, looked into my eyes, and told me to take care of you for him. I'll never forget the intensity, the love and sorrow in his voice. I take that as seriously now as I did 16 years ago" The statement caught Bainbridge off guard, breaking through his anger momentarily. "You're dismissed, Dr. Gaza." He ordered quietly. Turning back to his medicine cabinet, the old doctor sterilized his needle and replaced the syringe. "You know, Eli, in a lot of ways, you're just a boy hiding in a man's body. Just a boy scared to face reality." He calmly sat down and jotted down notes on his datapad. Bainbridge picked up an examining stool and threw it agains the bulkhead. "Get OFF this ship doctor." He seethed. "GET OFF. You may return to your duties when we depart at 1700 hours tomorrow. We have a job to do." He watched the man gather his medical briefcase and leave without a word. Collapsing to the floor in the dim light, Bainbridge rubbed his eyes and stared at nothing, clenching an unclenching his fists inconciously. He loved that old man like a father and hated him at the same time. Hated him because, deep down, he knew he was right. He pulled his blaster pistol out of his holster and absentmindedly took it apart, cleaning every part methodically. It was something he knew, reflex, muscle memory. Something he'd done thousands of times. He finished and reholstered it, his mind far away fromt the task at hand. Pulling out his Comlink, he typed in the code for his First Mate's frequency. There was a job to do. Category:Blog posts